Pip creates a lot of large scale art installations at home. He doesn’t speak and clearly these are a powerful means of self expression. Move over Tracy Emin, there’s a new sheriff in town!
Showcasing a selection of thought provoking works on a theme of “none shall pass”.
October 2019
milk and jug on kitchen floor
February 2020
June 2020
purist phase
August 2020
August 2020
smashed series
August 2020
smashed series
November 2020
(provisional)
December 2020
(artist at work)
December 2020
(final)
December 2020
December 2020
mixed flavour Dreamies cat treats on carpet
December 2020
December 2020
January 2021
Categories
recipe
Bagels are one of Pip’s favourite things, specifically:
- New York Bagel Co plain bagels
- New York Bagel Co cinnamon & raisin bagels
He likes to buy these bagels from a supermarket. He likes the look, smell and feel of these bagels. He likes it when other people eat these bagels. He does not like to eat these bagels. This is his bagel protocol.
ingredients:
- 1 New York Bagel Co plain bagel
- 1 New York Bagel Co cinnamon & raisin bagel
- Philadelphia cream cheese (full fat)
- marmalade (any sort will do*)
- Lurpak spreadable butter (full fat)
- Marmite
method:
- Cut each bagel in half. Allow Pip to sniff the cut side of each half-bagel.
- Toast the bagel halves, ideally simultaneously in a four slice toaster. Allow Pip to sniff the cut side of each toasted half-bagel.
- Liberally spread the plain bagel halves with cream cheese. Liberally spread the cinnamon & raisin bagel halves with Lurpak.
- Splodge some marmalade on top of the plain bagel.
- Open the marmite and keep it to hand. Don’t use the marmite on the cinnamon & raisin bagel halves.* Don’t use it at all.
- Place the plain bagel halves on one plate, and the cinnamon & raisin bagel halves on another plate. Allow Pete to sniff the bagels thoroughly.
- Serve.
serving notes:
Dad and I must eat the bagels.
The bagel protocol can be initiated at any time of day.
Dad and I no longer like bagels.
* take a moment to be grateful for this.
This is not a post about futurising so if you were hoping for that, move along. This is a post about wee and time travel!
the scene
So it’s 6pm on 4 January 2021. If you are reading this in the distant future [why?] the context is that the world is a year into the Covid-19 pandemic; the UK has just left the EU after years of Brexit; we are heading into the depths of winter after a damp squib Christmas not being able to see family or friends; today was the first day back at work for me and Dad as well as being day four of Dry January; and Boris Johnson is expected to announce at 8pm tonight that England is going into another complete, schools-shut, lockdown from midnight.
earlier
It became apparent overnight that Pip is going through a loss of bladder control episode. This has happened before: He needs to wee often but doesn’t seem to feel the usual urge so has an accident with no tell-tale jig or other visual signs that it is about to happen. It tends to last a couple of days before resolving spontaneously so is inconvenient and frustrating but nothing to be worried about. [Strangely, it also seems to be coupled with bouts of the giggles. Not sure what the correlation is and I’m not keen to do the research.] Pip woke me and Dad up at about 3am; needed showering and his bed changing. Another accident at 9am (kitchen corner sofa!) and then again at about noon (brother’s bed!) followed by an al fresco pee while walking the dog at 3pm. Me and Dad had a day full of bed stripping; Pip showering; clothes washing; sofa sorting; and following Pip around the whole time to make sure he’s never not on something waterproof. Dribble patches are a signature design feature in our house so I’ve spent a lot of the day diagnostically sniffing wet patches.
precautions
During a break from work I was fortunate to be able to source a packet of Dry Nites bed mats. I then set about applying these to vulnerable surfaces: I stuck them on the neurotips’ beds; on our bed; on the leather sofa; on top of the existing mat on Pip’s bed (layering!) and set about popping one in between the cover and pad of each of the seat cushions on the kitchen corner sofa that weren’t already baptised. I was on a roll and feeling like I was smashing incontinence when Pip DID A WEE AT THE OTHER END OF THE SOFA, on the biggest cushion of all: the chaisy bit intended for reclining during one’s moments of relaxation. It’s the single most unused bit of furniture in the house. Now with a great big wet patch. It’s 6pm and I’m feeling defeated.
future me* to the rescue!
After washing Pip I set about trying to dismantle the chaisy bit to get the cushion off and then undo the concealed zip to get the cover off. And then the miracle: there is a Dry Nites bed mat attached to the cushion pad, under the cover, and exactly in the right place to have saved the foam from a total soaking. It looks vintage, it’s clearly been there for some time (years!) but how? I’ve zero recollection of putting it there. I can only conclude that future me nipped back and stuck one in while I was washing Pip. Thank you, future me! You’ve made me feel totally invincible and ready to face whatever is ahead in these peculiar times, because you’ve got my back, right? Bring it on, Boris.
*DISCLAIMER: may have been future dad. But I’m equally happy about a future dad having my back!
This is post 1 in what I expect to be a series related to the “lockdown” in place in the UK as a result of the coronavirus pandemic in 2020. I expect there to be a series because the lockdown situation has meant that Pip, rather than going to school, has been spending a lot of time knocking around the house, which has given him an opportunity to establish some amazing new routines. One of the more bizarre ones is related to dog poo.
BACKGROUND
We are fortunate as a family to cohabit with a very nice dog by the name of Alfie. He welcomed himself in when Pip was five years old and showing a delight of all things canine. Since then, Pip has had a fairly on-off relationship with Afie. When it’s “on” Pip likes to be licked in the face and encourages this by illicitly feeding Alfie digestives or just by having a face covered in digestive crumbs. When it’s “off” Pip acts as if Alfie mostly isn’t there, much as he does around our other pets. Like all dogs Alfie disposes of his waste every day and usually chooses to do this on grass somewhere. This basically means our lawn a lot of the time, so we have a pretty slick scoop-it-up-in-a-mini-shovel-pop-it-in-a-bag-stick-it-in-the-wheelie-bin routine going on.
IMPACT OF LOCKDOWN
Up until lockdown Pip has taken zero notice of this routine. To all intents and purposes he was taking zero notice of any aspect of Alfie’s dog poo. Lockdown changed everything!
One day early into lockdown we had a really protracted in-and-out of the garage session during which it was clear Pip wanted something from the garage but we had no clue what. We went through all the usual suspects:
- gym balls to be pumped up
- bubble machine
- something in the washing machine he wanted
- we’d hidden something in the garage to get it out of circulation and he’d realised this and wanted it back*
After a bit of helpful shoving and hand holding by Pip we realised he wanted us to take a dog poo bag out of the packet in the garage. We were then escorted into the garden, directed to pick up the mini shovel, and then guided to pick up a newly deposited dog poo. Oh wow, Pip has been taking notice of this after all!
Later the same day, Pip again indicated that he wanted something out of the garage. Easy, we were thinking. He wants to pick up more dog poo! the Evidence:
- Exhibit 1: directing us to the garage
- Exhibit 2: cursory inspection reveals fresh dog poo on lawn; guilty looking dog
- Exhibit 3: Pip is patting himself on the bum, this is interpreted as a sign for “poo” because it’s what we tend to do to confirm olfactory readings that Pip has done a poo.
I very smugly trot into the garage to collect a bag but something is not quite right. Turns out after a bit of back and forth that there are two types of dog poo bag in the garage: green and black. And so we learn that sometimes Pip wants us to use green, sometimes black. There is a complex set of rules behind this which we don’t understand yet so Pip has to guide us to the correct bag each time. It’s usually the opposite of the one we have punted for.
So now we’ve lapsed into a nice routine where, roughly three times a day, Pip pats himself on the bum; guides us to the garage; helps us to select the correct dog poo bag; ensures we use the mini shovel; points out where the dog poo is before giggling hysterically as we bag it up; and monitors correct placement in the wheelie bin. No variation from this routine is allowed, goes without saying.**
Pros:
- lawn is being kept immaculate
- opportunity for signing: has since learned the correct sign for “poo”
- nice little lockdown activity to fill a dull moment
Cons:
- SOMETIMES THERE IS NO POO BUT WE HAVE TO PICK IT UP ANYWAY.
That’s right, sometimes there is no poo but we have to pick it up anyway. One morning Dad cleared away a dog poo before Pip had got out of bed. So when Pip did amble downstairs to start the day with a constitutional dog poo clear-up he’s basically horrified, and in a state of disbelief, to find none in the garden. But since we’d already begun the routine, and no-one knows how to exit without actually picking up dog-poo, we found ourselves patrolling the garden endlessly looking for poo that wasn’t there. In the end I managed to sneakily transplant onto the lawn a suspicious looking lump of soil and bag it super quick before it could be analysed. The subterfuge worked. LEARNING: don’t clear up dog poo without Pip being there to supervise.
PHANTOM POO (or THE BOY WHO CRIED POO)
Alfie used to be a fairly regular three-poos-a-day dog but since his exercise levels, and therefore diet, have been cut back during lockdown he isn’t quite as productive as he used to be. The first effect of this is that Pip isn’t getting as many op-poo-tunities as he used to and understandably he’s not happy about it. Often we get called out to clear poos that aren’t actually there, but should be there. We call these phantom poos. They are tricky things to deal with because they should be there, they just aren’t. And as it’s hard to prove a negative (TRUST ME PIP THERE ISN’T ANY POO!) phantom poos usually end up with all parties being frustrated. They also undermine the trust you have in the real poos, which actually are there but you don’t believe are there. (TRUST ME PIP THERE ISN’T ANY POO! OH HANG ON…THERE IS. SORRY.) I really wish Alfie would stop doing phantom poos and stick to the real ones.
*E.g. helium bottles; toilet rolls, tea bags. Don’t ask.
**Except for just the once when out of the blue Pip brought Dad an open bag of dog poo, while he was cooking lunch! Again, don’t ask.
The writing of this blog post was interrupted three six times by phantom dog poo.
Categories
water bottle
Quiz time! Which is the correct water bottle? (Answer at the end.)
FAQs
Why do you have five identical bottles? They are not identical. Notice that there are two shades of lid, and that two of the bottles have name labels. One of the name labels has worn blank, the other one hasn’t. We have five as a CONTINGENCY because this is the only thing Pip will drink out of when not in school. This is in fact a failed contingency, as Pip does not treat them equally, because he can tell that they are different.
Why doesn’t one bottle have a lid? It does have a lid, it just doesn’t belong on the bottle. It belongs on a shelf in the cupboard above.
Why aren’t all of the bottles in the cupboard? The bottles belong on the worktop.
What, all of the time? Yes, all of the time. Unless the correct water bottle is with his packed lunch.
Can you move them to wash them? Washing is done covertly and ideally taking care not to mess with the various lid, cup and bottle combination shown above. Pip has a photographic memory, however, so he will restore the correct combination if needed.
What are the two spare cups for? For drinking water at home after mealtimes. Not during mealtimes. After mealtimes.
What happens if one of the bottles breaks, gets lost etc? That is a question for Future Mum or Future Dad.
Categories
sleepover
PROLOGUE
Rewind by nearly a decade and we are looking around prospective schools for Pip. At the one we decide we love [because the first thing the wonderful head teacher did when we arrived was to crouch down and address Pip directly to welcome him and tell him how lovely it would be if he joined ] the head of primary passes us some information about respite breaks. “You might not want this now but the kids love it and it gives them a much needed change of scene and different experiences.”
The thought totally horrified us: Someone else, looking after Pip, overnight, without us? But he’s so TINY! And no-one understands his needs as well as us. It would be a cruelty! I don’t know what happened to that leaflet.
SUMMER 2016.
After much soul searching we push the button on getting respite because me and Dad are running on empty. To cut a long story short this involves a deal with Social Services whereby you tell them absolutely everything, open yourself up to scrutiny/judgement/loss of privacy* and Pip receives the designation Child in Need; and they get you a respite carer so you don’t throw yourself out of a window. Protracted period of locating a suitable respite carer follows and from 2017 for a very happy two years Pip goes on a weekday sleepover, about once a fortnight, with his matched respite family. The weekday night happens to be the same night as football and netball training for the neurotips so we don’t actually go out and “do” anything, but me and Dad get a break from attending to Pip’s personal needs which we do appreciate.
Me or Dad getting Pip’s overnight bag ready in the morning on respite days is his his cue that he is going on what we call “sleepover”. This means he can get his head around it, which he mostly was able to do, after an initial period of prevaricating. After a while Pip created his own hand sign for sleepover, which is a bit like the sign for “horse” but sideways. We think this is because he sees horses when he is on his sleepover. Clever.
AUTUMN 2019
One morning Pip doesn’t want sleepover. He forcibly unpacks sleepover bag once we’ve packed it and signs “sleepover: finished”. We eventually use misdirection and diversions to get the bag repacked. But within a few weeks Pip is resolutely refusing to go. And so begins the end of respite care.
One morning, when Pip was due to go on a sleepover, I woke him up as per usual.
Me: Wake up Pip! Pip [signing]: sleepover finished. Me: OK, sleepover finished. No more sleepover.
And that’s that.
Sleepover finished.
I should make it clear that his respite family was AMAZING and I doubt that it’s anything to do with them. We don’t understand what it was about. Possibilities are:
- getting to respite involved some undesirable aspect selected from type of transport, transport personnel or route (possibly inconsistent)
- going to respite involved missing out on his usual journey between home and school, which he loves
- he sometimes arrives at school late after respite which means he misses a bit of sensory circuits
- bored of it/can’t be bothered anymore
- lack of iPad when he’s there
- other
Whatever, respite care ends at that point because it’s clearly too much stress and hassle for everyone involved and that is very much Not The Point of Respite. So we find ourselves in the current position of not having respite. Me and Dad realise that we are very lucky not to need to worry about many things in life. Everyone at home is happy and healthy and we can afford what we need to live a contented life. However, providing full-time care for Pip is like walking on a tightrope: Keep your balance and don’t wobble. Eyes front, not down. Everything clenched. Senses super alert. Hope for no unexpected side-winds or some git bouncing on the rope up ahead. Steady does it. The respite breaks are like the little platforms between the end of one tightrope and the beginning of the next. The platforms give you a chance to look back at where you’ve been, feel a sense of accomplishment, and plan how you are going to get to the next platform. So at the moment it just feels like we are wobbling along a never ending tightrope and we are just a bit tired really, and ready to step off the rope.
EPILOGUE
A couple of weeks or so after the end of respite, Pip starts doing the sign for sleepover again, triggering us to trill that “sleepover is finished” with a simultaneous elaborate delivery of the sign for “finished”. This is HILARIOUS to Pip. The game has now developed to the point where we have to get the sleepover bag out and fake wrestle with Pip over it before letting him win and put it away again. In the extended version, we get to the point where we’ve put some pyjamas in it before it gets unpacked again and put away. Let me make it clear, this is a game that Pip instigates and which must be played. A good few times a day. Which is quite good fun if you can see a platform ahead.
*what it feels like, not what is happening in reality. All of the social workers we have ever met seem to do an amazing and very challenging job. My thanks to them.
Categories
park run
Park Run is totally amazing.
INTRODUCTION
One of my favourite things at the moment is going to our local Junior Park Run with Pip. Dad and I hit upon this idea last year when we were scouting around for a physical activity to replace the swimming lessons which ended rather abruptly after an Incident. Something on that another time maybe.
RAMBLE ABOUT RUNNING
Pip can definitely run, we know this. He walks on the balls of his feet, always has done, no exceptions, and runs like that too. His favourite place to run is probably on the beach, which is handy as (provided he is wearing something distinctive) he is good to go for miles and miles whilst remaining visible and safe. (We don’t try and keep up with him because he becomes a child of the beach and in those moments we are like shadows and not necessary. We only become necessary if he walks over someone’s picnic or assimilates into someone else’s family, in which case we retrieve before a re-releasing.) I understand that this balls-of-the-feet thing is a more instinctive and efficient way for humans to go on foot, and that heel-strike walking and running is learned (copied) and less efficient. Whatever, that makes sense because for the first 8-odd years Pip didn’t copy a single thing. Not a nod, clap, point, “ga-ga”, nose-pick, tongue poke, spoon feed, book read, bum wipe or cuddle. Because copying, my friends, is a way of learning. And learning is something that Pip does differently to neurotips. He mainly rediscovers and works everything out for himself. This is not efficient. This is a LEARNING DISABILITY in the very sense of the term.
RETURN TO MAIN STORY
Back to Park Run. Trainers are on (me and Pip!) and we set off round the course. There is an initial bit of cajoling of the “lets run Pip!” type before we lapse into a leisurely walk with runners streaming either side. There is a lot of sheep poo and tussocks to navigate. Do we go over, around or through? Such an adventure. We soon end up with the lovely tail-walkers. I explain that we are going to be very slow indeed but they reassure us that they are happy to have a very slow walk, it’s what they were hoping for, and we all turn our faces into the sun and proceed. There’s a bit of the initial talk which covers all of the key bases. Age: 12. Name: Pip. Won’t answer. Not ignoring you, just doesn’t talk. Never has. Autism. On we go. We get a lovely guide to all of the subtle features and nuances of the beautiful course, which would be so easy to miss if you were going above 2mph. Pip does a couple of bursts of running but it clearly doesn’t feel right so we just walk. Every marshal we go past requests a high five from Pip and he leaves no-one hanging. High-fiving is one of Pip’s strengths so this is a very good fit for him. Towards the end he does a cossack squat every ten paces or so. I register this but don’t try to interpret. I’m feeling a bit chilled out. By the time we get to the finish funnel the full complement of volunteers, parents and kids is cheering Pip across the finish line. The atmosphere is lovely. (Fair to say I feel guilty that everyone is waiting for us a full twenty minutes after the previous runner crossed the finish. The guilt, the GUILT!)
We scan our barcode. We thank profusely. We pledge to return.
Now Pip is running. He’s running fast, and with direction.
To the toilet.
Except the toilet is locked and out of commission.
So our first lovely parkrun ends with Pip very conspicuously peeing into a nearby bush with signifiant help from me as he’s never done a stand-up wee before. I came to the view that this was less undignified for him then allowing him to wee himself but I’m pretty sure it attracted a lot of attention from the National Trust patrons who passed during that 30 seconds that felt like an eternity.
EPILOGUE
Pip has been back and done almost every Junior Park Run since then with Dad or me filling the tail-walking role (which is very efficient, I think, and fun because we get to wear orange hi viz and a tail). Sunday is the only day of the week that Pip spontaneously gets up and willingly dresses himself and goes to the loo ready to go out. By week 2 Pip has a developing fan club at our local run. He is getting welcomed by all of the volunteers and some of the regular participants. By week 3 he’s feeling very at home, supervising the warm-up (never taking part, mind). Week 4 and while waiting to start he wanders up to me and gives me his FIRST EVER SPONTANEOUS HUG with a big smile on his face. I told all the volunteers. Week 5 and all of a sudden Pip is appearing on the rota as tail-walker and being given the orange hi viz and tail to wear when we arrive, and quietly getting the volunteer credits. Week 12 and Pip gets his half marathon wristband, which he wears during that week’s walk. He insists on returning it at the end: It belongs with all of the others in the crate. The crate that he helps to sort out every week so that it’s in the Proper Order, and which he is allowed to do without question. Because he has been embraced into the Park Run family.
This is the magic of Park Run.
Categories
knife algorithm
for use when buttering anything. ANYTHING.
Categories
the shopping trip*
A few weeks ago Pip and I had a rare Saturday together when the others were busy doing other things. It was during the Christmas break and I was feeling refreshed and invigorated from having spent a lovely couple of weeks with family and friends at home. Pip loves charity donation boxes and particularly the big one in the entrance lobby of the zoology museum in Cambridge. It’s a great glass cabinet filled with a mechanical, articulated, whale and turtle featuring many historical and present day figures from the zoology hall of fame. You pop coins in through a hole (ONE COIN AT A TIME PLEASE) and these roll down a curving brass channel before plopping out into a vortex funnel, down which they languidly swirl before plinking through the plughole and onto a tinkly bell. It’s marvellous and it’s one of Pip’s favourite things to take a quids-worth of coppers and feed them into this worthy receptacle. [I’m super happy with this because importantly it doesn’t involve pocket money going on pointless pieces of plastic or bits of cardboard. You know what I’m talking about.] What I’m leading up to is that I took a unilateral decision that we would Make The Most of the Day™ by visiting the museum with some coins. For a bit of a flair we could go on the Park and Ride bus because that’s fun too. Usefully, I could take back the backup Vans backpack I’d bought in the run up to Christmas as the Vans shop is right there in the nearby shopping centre. Easy.
Car drive to the Park and Ride was very pleasant, uneventful even. Getting close to the Park and Ride some wild gesticulation from Pip communicates that he wants me to stay on the road heading into Cambridge centre, rather than parking up. That’s OK, we can cope with that plot change and secretly I’m happy about it. Arrive at the Grand Arcade car park, park on level 3 [my favourite level: result] and make our way into the shopping centre.
BAD DECISION 1
We went down the stairs rather than taking the lift. FACEPALM!! I forget that Pip hates anything on stairs so he has to stop and pick up the litter on the way down. A squished coffee cup, lid and cardboard sleeve and some wrapper or other. It’s very manky. We head into the shopping centre and manage to get rid of it in the bin but then we have to wash our hands, gross.
After that we are on our way to the museum. There is a fairly direct route, up a mysterious (but importantly clean) back staircase, through a heavy gate and back down some stairs at the side of the museum. Recently though Pip has been boycotting this route in favour of walking around the museum block and going in through the front entrance. That’s fine, but he gets anxious about being rerouted to the shortcut, and in anticipation of this wanted to walk in the middle of the road so that he couldn’t fall victim to being artfully diverted up the mysterious stairs. This is a busy road so I had to use a bit of effort to keep him on the pathway. Part of the pathway was blocked by a deep excavation so we ended up in the road a lot of the time anyway. Pip has little evident sense of road safety so any walk next to a road is a little bit stressy. This was upper-level stressy. But we got to the museum without incident.
Coins all into the hole one by one. He knows what he’s doing, thanks. Other kids wait their turn with their single coins because they know instinctively that Pip is the boss of this machine.
Coins done I insist on a toilet trip. It’s been hours since last wee (him and me!) and Pip doesn’t know where the loo is so it’s useful reconnaissance. We use the disabled loo. No other choice: Pip is 12 so can’t come into the ladies with me and if he did we don’t fit into a single cubicle. He does a wee, I do a wee without him opening the door, we both wash hands. We do not use the hand drier because that would be lunacy. We use my jeans to dry our hands! I go to get the packaged Vans backpack off the hook on the door and that’s when something goes sideways. Pip doesn’t want this. Backpack belongs in the disabled loo and should stay there and he is very determined about this. We have a bit of a mental and physical wrestle on the threshold of the bog in front of a lady and her toddler waiting to come in. It’s embarrassing for me. In the end I shove Pip out of the loo so the poor lady and child can go in. They have to put up with Pip trying to break in to return the backpack and he’s raging. I’m trying to meekly usher him away and distract him/tell him straight that we’re leaving/stop him from breaking into the toilet. He’s banging his head against the toilet door repeatedly and it’s rattling in its frame. The whole 7.65billion population of the entire world is watching us, open mouthed. I get a good ten or so full force clumps from Pip before he very reluctantly is ushered away. Everyone is staring-without-actually-staring and we beat a hasty retreat.
VANS SHOP
Backpack exchange takes a FLIPPIN AGE and while we are waiting Pip prods girls with medium-long brunette hair who have the audacity not to have it in a pony tail. This is his preferred hairstyle for medium-long brunette hair. There are lots of these girls in the Vans shop all of a sudden. I’m really glad to finally see the back of the backpack.
AUTOMATIC DOORS
There is a set and a half of automatic doors between the shops and the car park. They are magnificent. Understandable then that Pip would want to watch them, activate them, admire them. For 20 minutes. Mesmerised. Toddlers doing this is cute and makes passers-by smile. Pubescents doing this is more unusual in my book. After 15 mins I want outta there but there isn’t much you can do about a mesmerised 12 year old sitting in front of some doors. You cannot pick him up or drag them away and they are immune to your pleas because they are fully hypnotised.
BAD DECISION 2
When Pip is back in the room we head back up to the car. I choose the stairs again because they are right by the doors. WHEN WILL I LEARN. Some careless type has allowed large fruity jelly sweets to trail up the stairs. On the plus side they are an incentive for Pip to leave the doors alone but once again he’s picking vile stuff up from the grotty stairs of the car park. I leap up the stairs ahead to pick them up first so he doesn’t have to. Yuk. He focusses on levering up a clod of chewing gum. No bin between the stairs and car so I throw caution to the wind, and the sweets, which go down the middle of the stairwell into the inky blackness of -1. It’s a terrible thing to have done but, in karma terms, neutral, I think, because we picked them up in the first place.
We get in the car and go home. Uneventful.
So really this is a story about my inability to get over What Others Must Be Thinking™. I don’t know why I find this so difficult. What is driving this? Why do I care so much about what people I don’t know are thinking?
*no shopping involved
autism: you can't beat it 